


Undeserving

by ceasefire



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Relationship, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 07:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceasefire/pseuds/ceasefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Koujaku still can't forget what happened on that one night in Glitter, and he hates himself for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undeserving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the penance/punishment square on my kink_bingo card.

Koujaku had been welcomed home by an empty apartment; a few of his fans had offered to come over and care for him, and Aoba had even offered to take the afternoon off to see him. He'd turned them all down, albeit gently. He needed to think this over alone, to get into his own headspace and sort out his feelings. The best way to do that was without any outside interference from the people that were causing the conflict in his emotions.

He flicked the light on as he stepped through his front door and headed straight over to his bed. There was an elaborate hairclip still sitting in the middle of one of the pillows, left by the last woman he'd invited over. That was before Platinum Jail, and he'd kept the clip in case she'd wanted it back. He tossed it to the side thoughtlessly as he sat down. The night was cold, but the air in his apartment felt muggy and stale. The conflicting sensations were enough to make gooseflesh run along the lengths of his arms, and he quickly unfastened the ties on his kimono, removed the covers from his neck and hands and glanced at the myriad of scars on his skin, at the start of the tattoo creeping along his shoulders and neck from beneath his collar.

Aoba Scrapping his mind had been emancipating in one sense and caging in another. The days he'd spent in the hospital had been bad enough, but now that he was discharged and back in his own home without the constant distractions of the ward to take his minds off of the situation, it was getting even more difficult to ignore his feelings and his memories.

But no matter how much Koujaku tortured himself, no matter how hard he resisted the images in his mind and the heat in his blood, he couldn't forget the small, fleeting moments from that night in Glitter that had rooted themselves in his brain. They were little things, but they were distinct and they made his entire body ache with desire; the smoothness of Aoba's skin against his lips and hands, the heat of his body...

The anger and confusion on Aoba's face as he'd pushed him away and demanded an explanation, and Koujaku hadn't given one. Couldn't give one. Couldn't excuse himself for what he'd almost done. And if that wasn't enough to discourage him, he had no idea how to voice the feelings he felt for Aoba either.

His mind wandered back to how Aoba's body had felt beneath his own; utterly wrong in some ways, too tense and full of reflexive resistance to his advances but at the same time so right, so warm and solid and perfect. He wondered if the salty tang he'd felt on his tongue after he'd kissed Aoba's neck was Aoba's taste usual taste, or whether the perspiration on his throat was only there because Aoba had been fighting so hard to stop him. He wondered if Aoba could forever forgive him for thinking of a near-disastrous moment like the one in Glitter like this, if Aoba would hate him if he knew.

No, he didn't need to wonder. He already knew.

Slowly, carefully, Koujaku slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his pants and underwear and slid them down to his knees. He was already half-hard, and he groaned as hot flesh met cold air. He lay there for a moment, back against his pillows, resisting the urge to just reach down and jerk himself to a messy, unsatisfying completion. He shouldn't have even been thinking about Aoba like this, and there was no way in hell he would act on his own impulses if he could defy them instead.

But it wasn't that simple, it was never that simple, and Koujaku found his mind wandering, forcing into existence all sorts of ideas and thoughts and wishes that he would have denied if he was a stronger person. He used to think about the women he slept with, used to idly wonder how they'd act once he'd bared them down to the skin and stripped away all the barriers between them. He didn't have to wonder for Aoba; he already knew. They'd known each other for too long for Aoba's personality to be any sort of mystery to him, and so it was easy to let his mind slip from the more vanilla aspects of sex and to the things he genuinely didn't know.

He'd probably be Aoba's first, he thought. First man, at least. That made sense, or it did to him. Aoba had always been private about his personal affairs, but he'd never known him to have a relationship serious enough to progress to that stage. When Aoba touched him he'd be cautious, almost shy to begin with, letting him make most of the moves first but refusing to be completely passive out of stubbornness. Koujaku didn't mind either way. He wanted Aoba to do whatever was he was comfortable with, as long as he wanted to touch Koujaku as much as Koujaku wanted to touch him.

Koujaku let out a breath of hot air that he felt he'd been holding for far too long, and he felt his own cock twitch against his stomach. He ignored it. 

Because of that stubbornness, Aoba would want to give him something in return. Aoba was never one to let a favour go unreturned, and Koujaku figured that part of his personality would mean he was also a giving lover.Koujaku wondered if Aoba would want to suck him, if Aoba would get on his knees or simply manoeuvre both their bodies comfortably onto the bed and slide down against his skin, but he realised he didn't care. Aoba would start slow at first, using one hand to stroke over his cock before taking it into his mouth. It'd be slow, with Aoba's tongue swirling around the head and pressing against the underside just to get a reaction out of him as he learned how to make him feel good.

Koujaku felt the stickiness of precome beading at the tip and smearing against his lower stomach as he shifted. He fisted his hands into his sheets, desperate to finish himself but feeling too ashamed of his thoughts to even bother trying. How could he ever look Aoba in the eye again, knowing that he'd thought of him like this? After everything Aoba had done for him, he was reducing him to nothing more than a cheap fantasy. He dug his fingernails into the sheets until they tore; he wasn't sure when his palms began to bleed from the pressure of his nails, but he certainly noticed the pain before the blood.

That was fine. He deserved the pain for thinking like this. Even though his cock was straining and aching for release so much that it hurt, even though his palms were stinging from the salt in his own sweat and blood was staining his bed sheets as it ran from his skin, he did nothing to soothe either of these pains. He deserved to feel both. He could almost think of it as preparation, because it would be nothing compared to the pain he was going to endure by pretending that nothing had changed between him and Aoba after Platinum Jail.  
He wanted to destroy these thoughts, tear them from his own mind and strike them down before they took him over and made him regret ever feeling this way in the first place. Koujaku breathed deep through clenched teeth and focused on the sting of his palms rather than the ache in his cock, but the show of resistance his body made was useless when his mind was betraying him.

There was no way Aoba would ever let him do any of this. But if there was, how far would he let him go? Koujaku licked his lips and forced air down his dry throat, cock straining and precome smearing across his lower belly as that thought crossed his mind. Gritting his teeth and fighting off the guilt that flared in his mind, Koujaku wrapped his hand around his cock and started to stroke himself.  
His movements were less careful than usual and had a rough edge that made him shiver; he usually preferred a gentler touch, and he wondered if he was subconsciously trying to mimic how he thought Aoba would touch him.It made him feel sick to his stomach with guilt but he couldn't help but wish that it was Aoba's hand and not his own. Even more than that,Koujaku wished it was Aoba taking him in, his body tight and hot around his dick. Would Aoba moan the way Koujaku thought he would, loud and unrestrained? Would feel pain at first or simply relax and accept him as he slid into him for the first time? How quickly would Aoba lose himself to pleasure with Koujaku inside of him? How hard would he come when it was Koujaku's hand jerking him instead of his own?

All Koujaku could think about from that moment on was Aoba.He could still recall exactly how Aoba had looked the night he'd accidentally walked into his room while he was asleep, could still recall that sudden sense of breathlessness that had settled in his chest at the sight. And he'd wondered what it was while they were in Platinum Jail, wondered if it was a one-off thing and quickly realised it had been the feelings he'd suppressed for years forcing their way to the surface. And it was shameful that he wasn't even trying to hide them or stop them anymore; Aoba was his friend and he was ruining their relationship by letting lust get the better of him. 

Grunting softly in reflexive disgust at his own behaviour, Koujaku squeezed his fingers around the base of his cock and then pressed his thumbnail roughly into the slit at the head. It hurt more than he expected it to, but the sting was just enough to make him come; it was messy and quick and made him feel sick as soon as he saw his hand covered in his own release. Once the tension in his limbs has eased, he grabbed a handful of tissues from the dresser and wiped himself clean. He tossed the used tissues away a second later, and accidentally nicked the edge of his wrist on the corner of his dresser. He swore and grit his teeth against the pain, but the second he found himself able to move again he was slamming his wrist down instead, wincing at the feeling of the bones in his hand aching and his flesh bruising. 

What he'd done was disgusting. But despite the guilt he felt, he couldn't erase Aoba from his mind completely. Aoba had saved his life, stuck by him, been there for him in a way that no one else had. And he deserved better, even if he resented having to admit it. 

Aoba deserved someone who could control himself.


End file.
